


I'm Burning Like a Bridge For Your Body

by prefectdraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cages, Cruciatus, Dark Harry Potter, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Harry Potter, Face-Fucking, Hallucinations, Human Trafficking, M/M, Master/Slave, Physical Abuse, Post-War, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slave Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Torture, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prefectdraco/pseuds/prefectdraco
Summary: The war is over, Voldemort has fallen. Peace has won, right?Wrong. At least, not for Draco Malfoy, who gets caught and enslaved by a group of justice-seekers, as a token for avenging the countless deaths caused by Death Eaters.Harry, on the other hand, only gets worse with Voldemort's fall. What he thought would bring him joy and closure ends up transforming him into a completely different person. He decides to buy and keep Draco as a slave for his personal pleasure and amusement.





	1. Time to Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> Like I mentioned, this is really graphic non-con and if you aren't comfortable with that, you probably shouldn't read this. I am in no way condoning rape or sex trafficking, remember that this is fiction.  
> The title of this fanfiction is based off one of my favourite albums, Deja Entendu by Brand New.  
> If you have questions you can message me on tumblr, at [prefectdraco](http://prefectdraco.tumblr.com).  
> I hope you enjoy!

“Time to wake up, Malfoy.”

The snickering and talking felt distant. It almost felt unreal in a way, as though all of this was a dream and that Draco was back home, where he was safe and free of suffering.

Draco’s eyes slowly opened, which was when he noticed just how much his body ached. The first thing he noticed was the pain in his muscles, then his massive headache, and last, he noticed that his body – which was completely naked – was bound with ropes, in a way that he could not move or escape. His eyes widened at that realisation, which was when he noticed that he was locked in a metal cage, with a group of men talking together as they laughed at him. At first, he couldn’t understand what was happening to him. This had to be some sort of vivid dream, a consequence of his active imagination. Yet, nothing indicated that this could in fact be a dream. He was aching everywhere and what he could see looked and felt real.

His first instinct was to squirm; was to find a way to get out of those painful ropes he was tied with. Except, none of his struggling did anything: he was completely trapped. After a few minutes, although disoriented, he managed to accept that fact, tears streaming down his face as he looked up at the men mocking him.

His vision was blurry, but he could make out the shadow of men that seemed eerily familiar to him. Even the voice that had woken him up from his trance seemed familiar now. He knew these men, which was why his current state was so funny to them. The rope that was tying his arms together and his legs together was bound in a way that almost cut in his skin, as though it stopped his blood flow. He winced as he raised his chin up, eyes out of focus, but looking as though he was staring at the men outside of the cage. The more he looked, the more he realised that the men were not in fact men: they were young, almost teenagers. Had they gone to school with him? Had they been his victims? Was that why he was there?

Whatever it was, it was clear now that his reputation had completely vanished now. His last name was now meaningless. In fact, nothing mattered anymore, not even his first name, since it was clear that he could never escape from his current situation unless a miracle occurred. He wanted to hide his body, disgusted by the people laughing at his naked body, wanting to cover himself up. He wanted to stop crying. He wanted to die. He didn’t know why this was happening to him, or who those men were, but one thing was clear: he was never going to escape.

—

It had been weeks since he had first woken up in that cage. Had it really been weeks? Draco wasn’t sure anymore. He had learned not to be sure of anything anymore – the sounds he heard, the things he saw, the information that was given to him, all of that could be faked or altered. He didn’t know what to believe or who to believe. Despite all of that, he now knew that the place his cage rested was a basement, most likely close to where he had been taken away, which meant somewhere in England. He did in fact know the men that now owned him. Among them were Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. The others were unknown. From their conversations, Draco found out that after the War, they had teamed up with several other wizards in order to hunt Death Eaters and serve what they believed was revenge. To them, enslaving previous Death Eaters avenged those whose lives were taken by the Dark Lord.

Most days, Draco spent in his cage, eating very little and being alone. Sometimes, a few men would come down in the basement, get him out of the cage and abuse him in all sorts of ways. They never considered his pain – their goal was to hurt him in every way possible, whether that was sexually, physically or psychologically. It didn’t take much to break Draco, seeing as he had already lost everything he cared about. After a few days of getting tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, getting repeatedly fucked and kicked and punched, Draco wasn’t the same.

After all, he had never really been brave in the first place. He also had nothing to motivate him to fight. His parents had been thrown into Azkaban, his friends now hated him and what had been left of his joy was now stripped away from him. He literally had nothing to live for, and was taunted by those he bullied in school.

It was only when he thought he had lost everything, that things were hopeless and that they couldn’t get worse that he got proved wrong. After days, or weeks – Draco had lost all notion of time by now – of getting treated like an animal, he thought his life had reached its lowest point. That was when another familiar face came in the basement. It seemed to be during the night. Well, at least, Draco had been sleeping. It could have been 10 A.M. for all he knew. Still, Draco had been getting used to his life by then, though he still dreamed of escaping and realising that the whole wizarding community had been searching for him. Except, those dreams were just that: fragments of his imagination. He knew none of them could be real, especially since no one cared about him. If he ever survived this, he would get out to find the same world he had left, authors expressing their hatred of the Malfoy family on several articles in the Daily Prophet.

The familiar face he saw as soon as he woke up though, it didn’t belong to just anyone. At first, it took him a moment to place the person. Not because he didn’t know them that well, because he had been too broken to remember much from his past life.

It was Blaise Zabini. When those mocking eyes stared into his, Draco thought he had been hallucinated. Perhaps this was part of his dream and Blaise was about to rescue him.

Perhaps this _was_ real, and Blaise was about to rescue him. Draco didn’t know anymore; everything was so blurry and confusing and nothing was real.

What Draco did remember was that Blaise walked down the stairs in silence, stopping in front of the cage, a grin fixed on his lips. One thing was sure, he didn’t seem to want to rescue Draco. He reached inside his pocket and took out a key, which ended up being the cage’s key, unlocking it an instant later and hauling Draco out of his cage by force. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Malfoy?” He smiled in a way that was far from being friendly, looking at Draco from above with the same pretentious glare he had always worn. He struck his fist across Draco’s cheek when Draco expected it the least, keeping him on the floor as always, his hands and legs bound in chains. He sat up, his hands resting over his crotch, as though he had anything to hide anymore. He was completely naked for Blaise to see; his hands didn’t hide anything.  Draco wasn’t one to beg, though this had become too much to handle. He needed a way out; he needed Blaise to save him. He looked up, his face flinching, expecting more physical pain, his eyes evidently pleading for mercy.

“Please.” Draco’s heart was racing, his entire body aching from daily punishment and abuse. Nothing was right and he wasn’t even sure he was asking Blaise to free him or to kill him, but either way, he would be doing Draco a favour.

Blaise only laughed, a laugh that seemed so different from his usual self, yet so similar at the same time. Draco couldn’t understand why Blaise would do this to him, regardless of anything. This had to be a sick joke, or else it was a nightmare. Blaise was his friend.

He kept telling himself that, as Blaise took off his pants, kicking Draco to the side of his ribs, making him fall over and land on his hands and knees. “Slaves don’t sit, they kneel. It’s a pity you haven’t learned that by now, Malfoy. I’ll have to tell your masters,” he said from behind Draco.

Draco had lost too much to feel in that moment. His pain felt, though he didn’t have many emotions remaining inside of him. If he did, he would have yelled, he would have attempted to escape. He would have cried. Instead, he simply stayed put, on all fours, like he was meant to be. He knew what Blaise was about to do to him, and in a way, he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted it to be over with, so he could go back to his somewhat peaceful dream.

“What a whore you’ve become. Look at yourself, begging for mercy. You deserve this happening to you. No one cares about you anymore, this is why we are all allowing this.”

Draco did his best to pretend Blaise’s words weren’t affecting him, his forehead pressed against the freezing cold floor, eyes clenched shut. Blaise coming here wasn’t a symbol of hope for him to escape, in contrary, it was a sign that no one wanted him. Instead of fantasizing about escaping, he needed to find a way to kill himself. That way, the pain and misery would simply end.

For now, he could hear Blaise’s footsteps coming nearer, stopping behind him and he could feel him kneeling. He expected Blaise’s cock inside him at any time now, just as he had expected Seamus’s, Dean’s and the numerous men they invited on a daily basis. It seemed as though many people were interested in fucking Draco, as a symbol of victory over Death Eaters. Most of them talked to him, too, and nothing was restricted – they could say anything, do anything and most of all, hurt Draco in any way possible, whether that was with magic or with fists.

As Draco kneeled on all fours, he winced, feeling the tip of Blaise’s cock enter him, without anything close to gentleness and intimacy. He ended up bottoming out of Draco, fucking him repeatedly in an almost mechanical manner, hands on Draco’s hips, nails digging into his skin. Draco could hear insults thrown at him, even though they didn’t have an effect on him anymore. He was as low as he could get. He didn’t make any noise while Blaise fucked him, nor did he attempt to escape. He knew that could get him in trouble, which he didn’t need in his situation. Blaise’s voice became noise and Draco felt his cheeks wet by tears that were now falling down his face.

Blaise left after coming inside of Draco, not saying a word to his former friend, slamming the door on his way out. Just when Draco had thought he had lost everything, he had now entirely lost the hope to gain back the life he had lost. He was now assured that no one cared for him, that no one was looking. He was a slave to the wizard community now, almost like an object made for constant abuse.  Only, this had just been the beginning of the destruction of his humanity. Things would only get worse from now, regardless of the efforts he would make to save himself.

 


	2. A Grim Old Place

Time had officially lost its meaning. Blaise’s visit had triggered something inside of Draco, something he couldn’t quite name, yet he knew that somehow, it was important. It was fundamental. He had begun suffering from hallucinations and nightmares, and even though they weren’t consistent, he was rarely at peace. Whenever he was left alone to think, he would simply suffer from all sorts of tricks his mind played on him.

His body was never let to rest. He ached every day from the moment he was first captured and nothing ever changed. His days weren’t all the same, but they resembled one another: he woke up, got fed left-overs, got tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, got passed around to be fucked a few times, then a few times more, until he eventually got left alone to sleep. He was constantly suffering from mental and physical abuse and there was nothing he could do about it.

With time, he had noticed that Seamus and Dean weren’t just assaulting Draco as friends, they were doing so as _lovers_. Well, who would have known. The first time he realised that they were in a relationship was when Seamus and Dean came down to the basement together one time. Draco had been fully awake, pacing his cage as he attempted his best to ignore them, as though he hoped that if he pretended they weren’t there, he wouldn’t have to deal with them. However, as they talked together, they began by unlocking his cage without acknowledging his presence. Dean then proceeded by ordering him to suck Seamus’s cock – which actually meant being mouth-fucked. While Draco’s mouth served as a fleshlight, Dean was fucking Seamus senselessly. It had been his first experience with both of them and it had been extremely disturbing to see them make out while he was servicing both of them. Well, one thing seemed clear; they sure loved hurting people together.  

Moving forward to one particular day, a day which changed everything for Draco, whether that had been positive, or negative. He was sleeping and it had been a strangely quiet day; he had only been disturbed by Seamus to eat what little amounts that were given to him. He had also been punched in the face for ‘misconduct’, but nothing more, thankfully, since he decided to be good after that. During that day, he suffered from his usual hallucinations, though he usually wasn’t sure they _were_ fragments of his imagination. They just made him more and more. When the Dark Lord walked down the staircase, laughing mischievously, wearing his long black robes, his eyes as piercing as ever, Draco believed it.

He didn’t even think for a second how it couldn’t be possible, he simply thought the Dark Lord had come back to life one way or another and was about to have his way with Draco, just as everyone had before him. It was sort of plausible in way, right? The Dark Lord would want to punish Draco for the wrong he had done; for his betrayal. Everything felt real about him: his laugh, his figure, his words. It was only after a while of having conversations with his illusion that he eventually convinced himself that it couldn’t really be him. It couldn’t.

It was only hours after Seamus had fed him – Draco couldn’t see what time it was, so he relied on his own internal clock – that someone else disturbed him. Except, it wasn’t just some random wizard about to abuse him. It wasn’t Seamus or Dean or anyone else he had already seen enter the room before.

 _Potter_. Or was it really him? He had the same glasses, the same haircut, the same face and the same scar, yet how could it really be Harry Potter? None of it made sense. Draco didn’t react much when he saw Harry, almost convinced he was just a new kind of hallucination. He had never imagined of Harry of all people taunting him, though it wasn’t impossible. He was the one who defeated the Dark Lord, the one that saved him from a life of misery, yet condemned him to a similar kind of misery in a different situation.

Harry couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be. Draco sat up as much as he could though, his back leaned against the side of his cage, glaring up at the evident mirage that walked up to the cage. Draco couldn’t know for sure – perhaps he _was_ real, perhaps he wasn’t.

“Draco,” Harry’s voice spoke, laced with pity and what Draco thought might be concern. When he looked up though, he realised that whatever Harry was, he seemed very far from concerned. He was wearing a smile, not unlike the ones he usually wore when he beat Draco at Quidditch all that time ago. How long had it been exactly? How could he know, having spent so much time in a basement with no contact with the outside world?

Draco stayed silent, as he usually did these days. It usually was safer than to speak, since there was nothing to say anymore. He had been defeated and Harry was proud – he was proud to have beaten Draco in such a way that couldn’t be compared to anything. He was triumphant, which explained the gleam in his eyes. “You’re not real,” Draco pronounced, grimacing up at Harry, his head shaking repeatedly as he attempted to back away from Harry, despite the fact that he had reached the end of his relatively small cage. “You can’t be real. You wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what exactly? Oh, you think I _wouldn’t_ be part of this?” His voice sounded amused, as though Draco had just made the funniest joke. “What makes you think the Ministry isn’t in on it, either?”

That couldn’t be the case. Harry was toying with him. Draco had become confused, but not _that_ much. The Ministry would never do this.  He shook his head once more, using his legs to hide his body, bending them. “No,” he murmured weakly. Just the fact of talking hurt his throat and several muscles in the region.

“You can keep dreaming the world’s good and peaceful, Draco, but you and I both know you’re only lying to yourself. Face the truth. You’ve been defeated,” he hummed in content, bending down to stare at Draco through the bars, “You’re nothing but a slave for public use now. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Harry’s laughs echoed through the empty basement and rang in Draco’s ears and Draco felt sick, he wanted to get out of his cage, to yell, to hurt Harry and make him pay for all the wrong he did to him. It was all Harry’s fault and there he was, taunting him, just like he had taunted him each time he had won against him.

This couldn’t be real.

The real Harry Potter wouldn’t be here. He would be rescuing him, not mocking him. It didn’t matter what sort of opposition they had when they were younger; they were both adults now. This couldn’t possibly be the same person who had saved him from the Fiendfyre during the Battle.

Everything from his physique to his voice and personality proved Draco wrong, if Harry was indeed real. Except, why would everyone want to use Draco as a slave? It didn’t make sense. Surely someone would object and stop this horrible thing from happening? Draco, however, was far past asking questions about the subject. He had given up entirely, hoping to obey as well as he could in order to dodge punishment.

What came after Harry’s incessant taunting would have shocked Draco if he hadn’t become so numb to it all. Without a word, Harry bent down and unlocked the cage, holding the same key Blaise had held. Except, instead of beating him, abusing him or torturing him, Harry grabbed Draco’s collar and pulled him up on his hands and knees outside of the cage, attaching one of Seamus and Dean’s leaches on his collar. “I imagine it doesn’t come off as a shock to you I’ve inherited money from my deceased parents. Well, you see, I’ve decided it was time to invest that money in something useful.”

—

 

When Draco woke up, his head hurt massively and of course, he was still bound and naked. He had gotten used to his constant state of nakedness, which didn’t bother him as much as everything else now. It didn’t take long for him to realise that he had been knocked out to be transported here – in a grim old place with ugly flowery wallpapers. The air scented of books and shoes. However, he wasn’t in a basement; he was in a bedroom of some kind, without a bed or any type of furniture. It was entirely empty, which meant it did not have a cage of any kind. Had this been an upgrade or were the appearances misleading? Draco couldn’t know for sure, but the wooden floor and warm air of the empty bedroom were so far much more comfortable than Seamus and Dean’s basement.

Wherever Harry lived, it seemed to be quite ancient in general. Since he had woken up in the room, he had no idea what the rest of the residence looked like, nor did he know what it looked like from outside. However, he was willing to bet that this was part of Harry’s inheritance from either his parents or some other family member, since he couldn’t imagine any young adult wanting to live here.

Draco was extremely disoriented: he had spent ages in the basement and was now in a completely different location, was hungry and thirsty and the smells were different. He felt at liberty in a way, because even though the room didn’t have any windows, it was much warmer in colours, odours and temperature. He didn’t stay awake for a long time. He woke up, looked around in confusion and curiousness, walking around, hands on the floor, feeling the hardwood floor under his knees. He then reached for the door, only noticing once he got closer that there was no handle from his side of the door. Then, due to his lack of sleep, lack of comfort and overall fatigue, he ended up passing out near the door, hitting his head on the floor.

He got shaken awake by a set of cold hands gripping his arms what felt like a second after he passed out. When his eyes opened, he first noticed, despite his blurry vision, green eyes seemingly staring into his soul, then lips that were talking, but he was too sleepy to comprehend what the words meant. Eventually, he woke up completely, trying his best to sit up. Once he managed to sit on the floor, Harry pushed him down to kneel, something he would have expected if he had thought before acting.

Draco groaned, his hurt, possibly broken ribs struck against the floor. He got back up, on his hands and knees this time, looking up at Harry with visible bitterness, eyes filled with what was left of his rebellious spirit. It was as though the change of atmosphere had prompted him to rebel against the system.

“I see you’ve taken a nap. You should then be at your full capacities while I explain. I’ll start off by saying that even though I don’t keep you in a cage or in a basement, you’re still below me and all of humanity on every level. You’re no better than an animal and if you haven’t learned that yet, you should begin to.”

Harry’s words lost important after only a few sentences and Draco stopped listening, fixing a point in the wall and zoning out. He couldn’t understand what had happened to Harry. Blaise had always been relatively strange and it _was_ plausible for him to assault Draco. Seamus and Dean did come as a shock, but Harry?

How could Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, do this to him? It didn’t matter what sort of mutual hatred they once shared – this was real life and Harry Potter would _never_ do this. He had to be under the influence of some sort of spell, if it was even possible.

Perhaps Draco had it all wrong, perhaps Harry would do this and he had simply overestimated humanity.

Did it really matter, though? His shock wouldn’t change his situation. He was stuck there, wherever _there_ was and he was stuck to serve whoever claimed him. He had become an object for whoever to toy with.  He had to live with it, to grow up and give up.

It was when Harry finished his speech that Draco looked back to him, nonchalant. “Is that understood?”

Draco nodded weakly despite not having heard a word of the monologue, avoided Harry’s eye contact by fear of being pushed around or beaten. This couldn’t be weirder. He had constantly pretended to be superior to Harry and his friends and now, he couldn’t be any lower than he already was.

He _belonged_ to Harry.


	3. A Shadow of the Past

Draco woke up the next day, disoriented and freezing cold. He found himself, once more, bare naked and on the floor, but he wasn’t alone. As Harry walked through the door and started heading towards him, Draco felt his heart begin to race. He had no idea what to expect from Harry, nor did he know what Harry had become. He _thought_ he had known him, from their time in Hogwarts, but it seemed as he had been wrong. Instead of ridding Harry of all evil, the war seemed to have worsened his state. If Harry was serious about all of this and it did seem that he was, there was no way Harry was the same than he had been during all those years.

The war had changed him, had shifted him into a completely different person. All Draco could do was hope he wasn’t as bad as he looked. Perhaps – hopefully – Harry would see how miserable Draco was and decide to set him free. Who was he kidding, though? He knew that would never happen, regardless of his pleas. He had learned that the hard way with Seamus and Dean.

Draco’s eyes opened gradually, trying to adjust to the little light there was in the room, mostly providing from the cracks in the door. He groaned as he rolled onto his back, his entire body aching, as usual. That was when he got a slap straight to his cheek, in a quite unexpected manner. He winced at the strike, rolling on his stomach now and getting up on his hands and knees as a way of feeling less exposed. It didn’t change much though, since he knew Harry would have his way with him regardless of how he was positioned.

“Don’t groan in my face when I come in the room. Next time, I’ll want to hear a ‘Good morning, Master’, and trust me, if I don’t, you’ll get more than a little slap.”

Harry’s words freed Draco of all existing hope in his body. It was clear that despite the change in scenery, things weren’t going to be much different for him. “Yes,” he mumbled, keeping his head down, staring at the floor in silence.

“Yes, _Master_.”

“There’s no need to call me Master, Potter,” he gritted through his teeth, not only as a way of revolting against his new owner, but also as a way of contradicting Harry – he had heard countless times of Harry’s multiple retorts to Hogwarts teachers. This was a simple way for him to shove Harry’s inconsistencies in his face. He knew what was coming next, he could almost feel the pain as he flinched: Harry wouldn’t let that remark slide, especially now that he was his new Master. 

He didn’t know what had made him misbehave in such a way, knowing all there would be in exchange was punishment.  Maybe his rebellious state was caused by the change in owners, maybe it was because he felt greatly humiliated, knowing his former school enemy literally _owned him_ now. Whatever it was, he knew he had made a mistake by talking back.

Harry would have found the remark funny. The man standing above him, in contrary, did not. Instead, he kicked Draco, this time between his legs. It took all that he had not to cry out from both the shock and the pain, his knees and elbows growing weak and almost giving in. He managed not to express any signs of pain, a grimace plastered on his face, staying dead quiet. “You’re not fooling me, Draco. I know what you truly are and I believe that deep down, you know it, too.”

There was a pause, in which Draco tried to squirm away from Harry, as pointless as it truly was. Then, he dared to glance back to see what Harry was doing. He saw him reaching in his pocket for his wand, which caused him to shake his head, the horror he felt visible in his widened eyes. “No, Potter, please–,” he shrieked, almost incoherently, his head rushing with thoughts. He knew what Harry was about to do. Of course, he wasn’t generous enough to end his misery and strike him with a Killing Curse. Instead, he would torture him in ways much more powerful than any physical violence he would bring down on him. He could feel his heart pounding faster and faster, his hands finally giving in, falling on his stomach. Draco was now crawling away in panic, knowing what awaited him with every second passing.

“ _Crucio._ ”

Draco felt numb for a moment, until the spell truly hit him. When it did, he realised how powerful it was in comparison with the other ones he had suffered from previously. This time, he couldn’t think, nor could he breathe. He was shouting hysterically, the pain too intense that he felt as though he was dying. His yells were constant, all of his muscles going into spasms. Nothing made sense anymore, all Draco could focus on was the pain, which consumed whatever strength he had left, leaving him to scream and cry out in agony. Though he felt like he was begging for mercy, he couldn’t hear anything he was saying. The only noise in his head was a high-pitched ringing sound, due to his suffering. He just wanted it to stop, he wanted everything to stop, he wanted Harry to end his life…

His body fell limp on the floor once the spell stopped taking effect, after what had felt like ages. It was then that he realised he had been sobbing, that his throat was dry and that his muscles hurt from the contractions alone. He didn’t have a funny comeback this time. He was completely defeated, at least for the moment, as he recovered from the Curse. The Curse, which had felt infinitely more painful when Harry had done it than the number of times others had cast it on him. For some reason, Harry was now able to throw powerful Unforgivable Curses around without any difficulty.

“Lovely screams. They almost make me want to cast the spell one last time,” Harry hummed, without a single trace of human emotions such as empathy or sadness. All that seemed to be left was amusement and sadism.

“ _Please_.” Draco’s voice was dry and his tone was almost empty, despite the desperation for mercy. He was weak, weaker than he had been with Seamus and Dean. Now, it was different. He had rebelled, something he never would have dared doing with his previous owners. He had done so due to the humiliation he felt and the spark of defiance he had felt at the time. Except, he now hated himself for talking back to Harry. One simple sentence had caused him immeasurable agony. As tears fell from his eyes, he looked up, relief taking over when he saw Harry tuck his wand back in his robes pocket. “M-master, please…” Even though it was strange to attribute that title to Harry, he would do anything not to suffer from such pain, at least if he could avoid it.  

“I’ve got other plans for you this morning. You better count yourself lucky, considering the way you’ve spoken to me, whore,” his master spoke.

The relief didn’t last long. He noticed that Harry’s robes fell to the floor, fully aware of what was next for him. He didn’t know why Harry had worn robes in the first place, since it was morning and he had planned on removing them anyway. Perhaps he enjoyed showing Draco what he was missing out on, demonstrating all the power he possessed.  

“Come over here.”

With a reasonable amount of effort, Draco managed to crawl over to Harry, his trembling body managing to get back on his knees by some sort of miracle. Without a word, he waited, whether it was to be imposed, or to be instructed to do something. His eyes closed, he heard the sound of a belt unbuckling, then trousers getting unzipped, which was his cue to open his eyes, waiting until Harry had pushed his trousers and pants down to look up, awaiting further instructions.

“You know what to do.”

Draco didn’t have to be told twice. With a feeling of sickness settling in his stomach, he shut his eyes once more, lips closed around the tip of Harry’s cock. He had gotten used to being fucked in the mouth, which was why it seemed relatively odd to be sucking someone off. Then, he realised that it was Harry Potter, of all people, he was doing it to. The irony was strong, but Draco didn’t think much of it, still affected from the Curse. He opened his throat as wide as he could as he went down on the length, his nose grazing Harry’s pubis. Knowing he would be punished if his job was mediocre, he was careful to try his best, taking Harry’s moans as a sign he was enjoying it. However, he had too quickly assumed his new master wouldn’t fuck his mouth – he had barely gotten used to the length of Harry’s cock when he felt hands gripping the hair on the back of his head, Harry’s cock thrusting into his throat.

Draco let out a small whimper. His gag reflex was almost non-existent now, due to the numerous times he had given head ever since his enslavement, but Harry’s cock was considerably big and he hadn’t expected him to start fucking his mouth. Eventually, Harry went all the way, pulling on Draco’s hair as he pounded aggressively into his mouth, letting out groans and several slurs.

Without any type of warning, Draco’s throat was obstructed by his master’s semen. He tried his best to swallow it, his face twisted into a grimace – he absolutely hated the taste and had never quite managed to get used to it. Once he managed to swallow all of it, Harry’s hands let go of his hair, pulling out from his mouth. He expected praise of some sort, almost laughing at himself for his expectations. Judging by his behaviour, Harry didn’t seem anywhere close to complimenting him. Draco gulped whatever liquid was left in his mouth, pulling back as well to look up at his master.

Harry pulled his trousers up, zipping them and taking his robes off from the floor. He left without a second look at Draco, leaving him with messy hair and come on his chin.

Part of Draco had hoped Harry would stay a while longer, for some reason. He wanted some sort of human contact, something he had lacked greatly ever since he had been thrown in that basement. The violence he went through was almost similar to affection in a way. It was as close as he would get to anything resembling human touch, which was why he didn’t mind it as much as being left on his own.

He started sobbing quietly when Harry shut the door on his way out, lying on his back and, with enough effort, managing to fall back asleep.

 


	4. Paralysed

Draco felt almost numb to the rough pounding at this point. It had only been a few days since he had first gotten in with Harry, completely isolated from anyone and anything else. He kept misbehaving despite the rough punishment he received with every rule he disregarded, wanting to test Harry’s limits, wanting to see how far he could go. There were so many rules and Draco wasn’t even able to follow one of them, already sick of the constant objectification and torture he suffered. He stayed put on his hands and knees, the side of his face pressed down against the cold hardwood floor. He could hear Harry moaning insults as he fucked him, but insults barely affected him anymore. Well, that wasn’t completely true. He wasn’t entirely broken just yet. Often, he would find himself crying when Harry was particularly cruel; when he left the room after being terrible with him. He _was_ affected by the treatment he received, but he was also aware that there was nothing he could do about it. He had stopped begging for mercy after a day or so, he had also stopped sobbing whenever Harry used him. Well, other than the times he was instructed to cry or to beg, in which case Draco would usually comply.

As he endured Harry’s rough fucking, he stayed silent, staring at a nearby wall with a blank expression on his face. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt anymore, it was simply that he had gotten accustomed to the pain.  It was almost always there, so he had stopped reacting to every strike Harry inflicted on him. He wasn’t crying this time, his eyes fully open as he felt Harry’s hands gripping his arse, nails digging into the skin to carve marks there. Part of him was hoping Harry wouldn’t bring up the fact that his cock was painfully hard, as it would be if the act was purely consensual. Yes, it did happen that he occasionally got hard; over time, he had gotten oversensitive to the smallest of touches, with almost any stimulation intense enough to arouse him. However, being hard in such a context was far from pleasant. He _loathed_ himself for succumbing to any kind of stimulation from Harry, knowing how disgusting he was to let his body win over his thoughts. If he hadn’t been used so cruelly, perhaps he would reason with himself, tell himself how he couldn’t help it, how he shouldn’t feel guilty about it. After all the abuse he received though, he couldn’t feel indifferent about it. He was repulsed with himself, for obeying to such disgusting men, for allowing them to degrade him in such ways and mostly, for being _turned on_ by all of this fucked up shit. Despite being unable to see that, it was understandable Draco got hard at the slightest touch, since his latest opportunity to come or even to touch himself had been months ago.  He hadn’t been able to touch himself since his enslavement. Not that he would have wanted to, anyway. Especially not under orders. It had happened, while he was with Finnigan and Thomas, that he was pleasured by other men. That, on the other hand, hadn’t been enjoyable in the slightest. Although he had gotten hard, it had barely been pleasurable. With Harry… it was much different. Not that he enjoyed being fucked by Harry, but his body reacted differently. Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was _Harry Potter_ , that a part of him put some trust into Harry, to a certain extent.

Harry came inside him with a rough thrust, his hips slamming into Draco’s arse. He always made the same sharp movement whenever he came, Draco noticed. It was becoming quite predictable now. What Draco wanted more than anything at that point was to resist, to try his hardest to shove Harry away. Knowing it would be useless, not feeling strong enough to fight back, he stayed in place, letting out a strained breath when Harry wrapped his hand tightly around his neck. It seemed that Harry enjoyed anything that would inflict pain upon Draco, which made sense, since they had always hated each other. This was… so much different, though. Never would he have thought Harry was capable of such cruelty. Well, he was still convinced this wasn’t Harry. How could it be, after all? Though Harry had been able to force him into submission, he was far from loyal to Harry. The punishment hadn’t yet stopped his disobedience, though it did make him think twice about misbehaving, which meant it was working incredibly well, since Draco had never been one to follow the rules regardless of consequences. Right now, Harry may have succeeded to make him obey, but his mind was still free. It was all he had left, now.

Struggling for breath as Harry rode out his orgasm, he wasn’t even aware of his hard dick anymore, too concentrated on seeking air. He squirmed in his restraints, though Harry’s hand only squeezed tighter around his throat. Tighter and tighter. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of how hard he was choking him. Or, he might have been fully aware. It was hard to tell. Regardless, he couldn’t think about anything anymore. He tried to speak, though it was practically impossible at that point, still resisting pointlessly – this time, not out of rebellion, but as a struggle for survival. He knew that Harry wasn’t trying to kill him obviously, but his body wouldn’t stay still. He was about to faint. He needed to breathe, or…

Draco gasped for air, tears running from his eyes as he began to cough violently, practically sinking back on the floor as soon as Harry let go of his neck. “Please.” His voice was barely audible. If breathing was painful, it was nothing compared to talking. Though his eyes were open, he couldn’t see much, still processing the shock. It wasn’t much new, but Harry had never been this rough with his strangling.

The response he received from Harry was a hand in his hair. It almost felt affectionate at first, it felt as though Harry was about to pet his hair. Obviously, he would have done no such thing. His head was yanked back and before he knew it, Harry had forced him back up on his hands and knees.

“Did I allow you to lie down?” Though it seemed rhetorical, Draco knew he needed to give Harry an answer to his question. He was still catching his breath, his vision gradually coming back blurry.  

He couldn’t do this anymore. He simply couldn’t. He needed to escape – he thought he had had things under control, but he couldn’t live this way. Either he ended things, or he escaped. Either way, this could not go on.

A painful strike to the back of his neck. “I asked you a question, slave.”

“No. No, M-master. You didn’t…tell me to lie down,” he mumbled weakly, his face twisted into a grimace. Still not used to calling Harry ' _Master_ '.

Such a situation would have almost looked amusing to Draco in the past, but experiencing it was anything but. The humiliation was slowly destroying him, though he could either tolerate the embarrassment or have whatever was left of his humanity tortured out of him.

Silence fell in the empty room. The only sound they could hear was Draco’s heavy, inconstant breathing. Part of him even feared Harry would punish him for breathing so loudly, though it thankfully did not happen. Draco wondered what his punishment would be this time. The strangling hadn’t been a punishment, for he hadn’t done anything wrong. The punishments were much worse.  Though Harry seemed to prefer hurting him physically rather than with the Cruciatus Curse and other painful curses, that did not mean it hurt any less.

Eventually, when Harry let go of his hair, he told himself that perhaps there would be no punishment after all.

“ _Petrificus totalus._ ”

Draco had the reflex of opening his mouth to protest and complain, but obviously, not only was he unable to talk, his mouth didn’t open at all. He had completely frozen in place. Of course.  Without even an opportunity to change Harry’s mind. He was fuming, though it mustn’t have been visible, since he was fully motionless. _For fuck’s sake._

He heard a dry snicker behind him, then Harry’s footsteps, travelling from behind him to face him. “Far better.”

_What a fucking self-absorbed prick._

Harry bent down to look into Draco’s eyes, which held a bit of the desperation he was experiencing. “If only you could see yourself right now,” he told him, with a smile in his voice. It only fuelled the anger in the pit of Draco’s stomach, which was constantly growing as time went by and he was still as immobile.

What exactly was Harry’s goal with all of this? It seemed as though he was aiming to become the new and improved Dark Lord.

“I’d love for everyone to see you like this, too. It’s truly a wonderful sight.”

_Would he shut up eventually?_

“With my position in the Ministry, I bet they wouldn’t even bat an eye if I slipped anything about you.” Harry eventually stood back up, a hand cupping the back of Draco’s hair, without pulling on it – thankfully. What the bloody hell was he on about? _The Ministry_? “You know, a lot of people see this as justice being served. They’re right, too,” he went on, as Draco felt a shiver travel through his body at the light touch of Harry’s hand on his head. Did this differ much from his daily reality, though? From the very moment he arrived wherever _here_ was, he hadn’t been allowed to voice his thoughts and opinions, and could barely move without the authorisation of his _soi-disant_ master.

“I’ve already told a handful of people, actually,” Harry explained, his tone of voice far too relaxed for the topic he was discussing. “No one gives a shit about you, Draco.”

‘ _Draco’_? What was Harry on, really?

“No one is coming to rescue you.” He hadn’t realised just how frustrating it was not to be able to talk back until now. If he had been able to voice his thoughts, he would have gotten a far bigger punishment, but at least he would have corrected Harry’s misconceptions about Draco. In no way was he expecting anyone to come and save him from this relentless torture. His parents were in Azkaban and the rest of the population wanted him dead. “Not even your parents.”

The word _hate_ wasn’t strong enough to qualify how he felt towards Harry. Though the torture he had went through had been enough to rid him of all hope and make him realise how pointless it was to fight, he couldn’t handle the fact that Harry mentioned his parents. And of course, there was absolutely nothing he could do as he stayed on his hands and knees, posed like an animal in restraints, motionless and still suffering from the strangling.

“Oh, I haven’t told you yet, have I?” Harry monologued gleefully. He took his time, letting silence reign once again. Despite trying not to care, Draco was wondering what Harry was about to announce. Judging from the tone of his voice, it couldn’t be too good for him. He let go of Draco’s hair, walking off. Draco could only hear him now, the sound of his footsteps resonating throughout the room, echoing almost. “It’s about your parents. _Well_ … to be fair, it’s about your father, more specifically.”

Was Harry about to announce to him that his father was in Azkaban? What a revelation it was. He too had been in the courtroom during his parents’ trials. He had witnessed them being sent to Azkaban, with the Wizengamot practically cheering on. He remembered those trials more than he remembered anything else. Regardless of the horrors he was going through these days, never would he forget about his parents.

He felt a hand on his arse, nails pressing into his skin once again. It was better than a hand around his throat, quite frankly. “He managed to get himself out. While your mother’s still rotting away in the middle of the North Sea, your dad’s quite busy these days. He cares so little about you that he’s not even _looking_.” Harry let out a sadistic laugh. “Last time I saw him, he had shown up at the Ministry to obtain his old job back. It’s quite pathetic, don’t you think?” It wasn’t just amusement in Harry’s voice, there was also what sounded like…anger. As if the situation infuriated him, for some reason.

It took Draco a moment to truly take in Harry’s words. Usually, they all sounded alike; heartless insults and verbal humiliation. Now, Harry was talking about the outside world. Something he had never done. Actually, the last time he knew anything about the world was back when he was free.

This… this had to be a lie. It couldn’t be the truth. He knew his father more than anyone else. He _cared_. People perceived him as an awful and selfish man, but he was his father. He would look for him if he was missing, it couldn’t be otherwise.

However, the more Draco was justifying Harry’s words in his head, the less he believed his own justifications. Was Harry telling the truth? On one hand, he knew he couldn’t believe Harry, but he was so desperate for information about _anything_ that he almost wanted to believe it. At least, it would mean that he deserved all of this. If not even his own father cared enough to look for him, no one could care. He was perhaps meant for this. 

Confusion overtook him, flooding his thoughts with various scenarios, none of which were very encouraging. The fact that he could not move or do anything other than think was truly awful. He couldn’t force the truth out of Harry. He didn’t know _what_ to believe, really, but it was incredibly hard not to bring at least some credibility to Harry’s words.

“I wonder what he’d think if he saw you like this. Imagine the shame!” Harry snapped him out of his thoughts, back to reality. If this was even reality. Draco was unable to hear the next few sentences Harry told him. All he could think about was his father. Was he really free? Why had he left his wife in prison?  And more importantly, why the fuck would he be out of Azkaban? None of it made sense. It had to be made up. It had to be a lie.

He finally tuned back to Harry’s voice when he felt nails digging deeper into his arse, most likely drawing blood. “You know what, I think I’ll leave you with those thoughts. I shouldn’t use the counter curse just yet, not after how bad you were.” The trace of amusement in Harry’s voice only angered Draco further. “You’ve got to be careful, Draco. If you continue like that, I might even cut off your food. We’ll have to see your behaviour tomorrow. Goodnight.”

He heard the door slamming shut, without being able to see Harry leaving the room. It was almost painful, not to be able to move in the slightest. Though since he wasn’t able to control it, there was nothing he could do about it other than to stare in front of him and wait for Harry to return. He couldn’t scream, nor could he cry.

All he could do was to think about Harry’s words.  Trying to comfort himself, convince himself Harry was lying to him.

Time stopped as he continued staring blankly at the tapestried wall, particularly frustrated with his lack of power over the situation. He must have been there for hours after Harry left the room, staring at the same spot, lost in his thoughts. Though he couldn’t really tell how long it had been.

Footsteps approached him – had Harry entered the room? He hadn’t even heard the door open. His heart beat, which had steadied, started to accelerate once again. Though he had grown impatient, he wanted to be left alone now. He didn’t want Harry there, especially not if he would bring up his father again.

“Draco.”

No.

 _No_. It couldn’t be his father. He couldn’t see anyone in his limited field of view, but it was definitely his father’s voice. He panicked, but obviously none of that was visible, as he was still just as immobile. He needed to see him. Hide himself. He wasn’t sure _what_ he would do if he was able to move, but he would definitely not stay in place, on all fours.

He was going mad. The laugh that resonated in his ears was definitely from his father, it was so clear and distinct, but it couldn’t be real.

Could it?

His head ached, he needed this to stop. He wanted to beg for mercy from Harry, or even to revolt and try fighting him, as pointless as that would be. Obviously, all he could do was glare at the bloody wall as he kept repeating to himself that it was all in his head.

Abruptly, the laugh and the distant voice of his father stopped. He really was going mad.

Either that, or Harry was fucking with him. He wasn’t sure which was worse, but part of him hoped it was the latter.

Hours later, Harry came back and used the counter curse on him, without a word. By then, Draco was too weak to express his anger to Harry. Instead, he collapsed on the floor, his hands and knees shaking lightly.

“I expect you’ve learned your lesson, now. Here.” Draco kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see what Harry had planned out for him. He had learned over time that it was rarely ever pleasant.   

After a moment, his eyes fluttered open, only to see a bowl with what looked like water and another one with a tablespoon’s worth of apples. The usual meal of the day. Without a single comment, Draco sat up, staring into the water. If he had known the water was actually a potion Harry gave him every day to cause those hallucinations and install in him a certain anxiety, he would have refused to drink even if it meant dehydration. Being desperately thirsty all the time and always accepting what little food and water he received, he bent down to drink it without a second thought. The food was then finished in no time, as it wasn’t a very big portion. It definitely didn’t alleviate his hunger either.

He felt weakened from being paralysed for so long. He had no fucking idea how he would survive this if Harry continued restricting his food and treating him like shit, but he would try his hardest to escape. He thought that perhaps, if he was particularly obedient, Harry would offer him privileges. That way, he might miraculously escape, one way or another.  He was quickly yanked out of those rebellious thoughts when his cheek was slapped, for no apparent reason.  “I’ve got to go to work. I’ll let the door open, clean yourself up before I come home. Don’t even try going down the stairs.”

And just as quickly as he arrived, Harry had left the empty room, leaving the door wide open.


	5. I Lie Only for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long!!! I promise I'll try to update more regularly, but things have been particularly busy. I actually didn't think I'd ever update again. So, if you like the story please comment so I know some people are interested in it! Thanks a lot.

The water was still running, but it was cold now. It wasn’t even lukewarm anymore. The bath was almost overflowing, with Draco lying back, about to fall asleep. He wasn’t exactly sure when Harry had left for work, but he was certain he hadn’t yet come back. He usually spent his day in the bathroom when he was allowed out of that awful room, because there was a small window on the other side of the bathroom. His only contact with the outside world for now. All he could see was the sky, a typical cloudy day in England, but it brought him hope.

On his third or fourth day in there, he had attempted to break the window. Of course, that had been utterly pointless, as the window was unbreakable, most likely due to a charm of sorts. Now, he knew better. He would find another way to get out of there. Whatever it took.

It was already enough to dream about it; it needed to happen, and it needed to happen sooner rather than later. Or else, he would go mad. He had thought of countless options to escape, but none seemed very plausible with his weakened body. Attacking Harry and stealing his wand required strength, so did finding his way down the stairs and getting out of the house. Still, there _must_ be a way. It was all he thought about now. Well, that and his father, who was apparently a free man. Would he accept to take him in, if he managed to get out of there? All his friends had turned against him, including Zabini, and his mother was still in Azkaban. Everyone hated him along with the rest of his family. His father was the only one who cared about him now, who would be willing to protect him.

When he got tired of lying in cold water, he pushed himself out and drained the water from the bathtub.  The reflexion in the mirror did _not_ look like himself. The man looking back at him was scrawny – much scrawnier than he was in the first place – and wore darkened circles under his tired eyes. His hair was a mess, slightly longer than how he usually wore it, but it didn’t look as bad when it was wet. He didn’t bother drying it off, instead drying his body as best as he could with the towel. The reflex to dress up after a bath hadn’t left yet, because he looked around, his eyes seeking for his clothes. Obviously, there were none for him to wear.

As he avoided looking at himself in the mirror once more, he turned back and got out of the bathroom. As he walked out of the bathroom, he looked around. He rarely paid attention to his surroundings whenever he was allowed out of the room, because he couldn’t care less about them. Except, well, just like the windowless room he slept in, the entire house seemed quite old, dark and dusty. It definitely didn’t seem like a place Harry would buy. Not that he knew Harry that much, but… who the fuck would want to purchase such a place, really? Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he made his way back to the room, knowing very well he would get in trouble if Harry found him walking out and about. Besides, there wasn’t much he could do as he waited for Harry to come back – the stairs were apparently charmed to prevent him from getting downstairs and the doors leading to the other rooms were locked. Yes, he had already checked all of them, out of desperation.

***

It had surprisingly become quite easy, after a while. Well, it was more that Draco had gotten used to it, had started to gradually figure out what Harry liked, what he could do to please him or to piss him off. Obviously, there wasn’t _much_ he could do other than obey. Harry made sure to keep him feeble and unable to fight back by feeding him in ridiculously small amounts, but feeding him enough to live on and manage to move. The permanent restraints Draco wore were practically useless, since he wouldn’t be able to do much if he was freed of them either. It was enough of a struggle to stay on his hands and knees whenever Harry wanted him in that position.

Now, Draco had become fully obedient. He needed to be, after all, in order to avoid punishment. He had realised how useless it would be to fight Harry in his current situation – the only useful act was not to act. He knew that if he was docile, he would gradually earn Harry’s trust and perhaps get an upgrade. It had become his goal now, though he still hadn’t given up on escaping just yet. He was slowly trying to figure out a strategy, knowing that if he missed his shot, he most likely wouldn’t get a chance to escape again.

What he often wondered was whether or not Harry would get rid of him someday. Would he eventually get bored of using him to express his anger or would he keep him in eternal suffering? Either way, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. His life after he stopped acting out became easier and he hadn’t gotten punished in a while now. Harry still hadn’t been particularly _nice_ per se, but the injuries on Draco’s back were slowly healing after what was probably two weeks of staying there.

Draco eventually realised he had gotten carried away in his thoughts when he felt a hand strike him across his cheek. Immediately, he looked up at Harry only to look back down at the floor.

“How many times have I repeated how much I hate it when you don’t listen to me, Draco?” Harry asked rhetorically, his hand now gripping Draco’s hair, but with far less aggressiveness than he had expected.

“Sorry,” Draco quickly spoke, his eyes fixing Harry’s shoes. “…Master.”

Harry let go of his hair, but he stayed right in front of him.  A few seconds of silence passed between them before Harry spoke again, “As I was saying,” he started. “Since you have not acted out for over a week, I have decided to give you… special treatment of sorts.”

Draco’s head tilted back up in Harry’s direction, looking at him quietly.

“I will allow you to sleep on the floor of my bedroom,” he said, and Draco wondered how exactly that might be special treatment. Did Harry believe Draco wanted to sleep in his room? And why would Harry want him there in the first place? “I will also… remove those restraints.”

Draco’s eyes lit up and widened slightly – was Harry messing with him? Would he truly free him of the restraints? If he was being truthful, it meant Draco’s obedient behaviour really had paid off.

“That does not mean that I will be any looser with you. Do know I won’t forgive as much as an accident. If you attempt to hurt me in anyway, I won’t just put you back in your chains. I’ll starve you and I’ll hurt you more than you’ve ever been hurt. You have been warned.”

“Y-yes, Master,” Draco said, with a small nod. “Thank you.”

Just like that, Harry flicked his wand and unchained him. He then turned back and headed out. “Follow me.”

Draco had a hard time to keep up, but he finally managed to reach Harry’s bedroom, which was far different from his. Though it also looked old, he had a few windows and there was a king-size bed which reminded him of the furniture in his own home. Could he even call the Malfoy Manor his home now, after everything? It had been so long since he had last been there, and it was almost hard to remember what it looked like.

There weren’t any photos on the walls, not even decorations or paintings. That was definitely odd – he knew for certain that Harry would at least have photographs of his friends somewhere. Still, he didn’t take too much time analysing the room, scared Harry would be angry if he noticed he was looking around.

“You will sleep on the side of my bed. If you touch the bed in any way, I will make you regret it.” Harry left the room without another word.

Draco crawled to the side of the bed and lied there quietly. It was the first time in weeks – or months – since he felt truly hopeful about escaping. There had never been as much as a chance of getting out of his situation before – but he was free of his restraints as of now. Though he was too weak to escape for now, he knew he would find a way out. Perhaps it would take more steps than planned, but it would work. Perhaps his father would come looking for him and get him out of this nightmare.

Whatever it was, he had hope. Purpose.


End file.
